Mom sits me up gently and moves me into my wheelchair. She pushes me into the living room before connecting the sniff controller. It takes a few tries to get the tube up my nose right. “We’ll get some kind of clamp so we can attach the tablet to your chair,” she tells me as she props it up on a tray so I can see it. I am impatient, eager to ask about Sarah.
“SARAH?” I finally sniff.
“No news yet,” says Mom, “but give them a chance, Jemma. Would you like a drink? I’m going to make myself a cup of tea.”
“WATER,” I sniff. It still feels incredible to be able to ask for things.
I think about Dan, imagining him being questioned. I hope he’s squirming in his chair, stuck for words. I’d love for him to know what it’s like when you can’t speak. I hope he’s scared too—really scared.
Mom brings the drinks, sits down near me, and helps me drink the water from a straw.
“It must have been terrible for you,” she says as she sips her tea, “knowing all that and not being able to tell us.”
“YES,” I sniff slowly.
“And we were all taken in by him, apart from you.”
“YES,” I sniff. Though I know if I had been able to talk, Dan would never have shared his secret with me.
“SARAH?” I ask again after dinner.
“I’ll phone the station and see if there’s any update,” Mom tells me.
“WANT,” I sniff.
“What do you want, Jemma?” she asks. “HEAR,” I continue.
“Of course,” says Mom. She fiddles with the phone, turning on the speaker.
I wait while Mom gets through to Officer Hunt.
“We wondered if there was any news about Sarah,” Mom says.
“Well,” says Officer Hunt, “we’ve talked to Dan Harris, but unfortunately we’ve found no reason to hold him.”
“Oh?” says Mom.
“He has an alibi for the evening Ryan was killed, and we have no other evidence against him. There is nothing to indicate he is connected with Sarah’s disappearance either. He has an alibi for that night too. So we’ve had to let him go.”
“Goodness,” says Mom.
My breath comes fast. I don’t believe it. The police have made a mistake. Dan must’ve lied about his alibis. I know he did it. I know!
“But Jemma was so sure,” Mom says quietly. “I don’t believe she was making it up.”
“It wasn’t exactly your average witness statement,” Officer Hunt says. “She’s never spoken before. Maybe she got overexcited, started making up stories. Maybe it’s all jumbled in her head.”
He doesn’t believe a word I said! He’d rather believe Dan. Making up stories…jumbled in her head. How dare he say that?
Mom glances at me, and I think she’s wishing she hadn’t put the speaker on. I hope she doesn’t turn it off now.
“TRUE,” I sniff to Mom. “WAS DAN.”
“I think Jemma believed what she told you to be true,” Mom tells Officer Hunt. “Dan may have been joking with her, but I’m sure Jemma heard what she says she heard.”
“You know her best, of course, but like I said—it’s a weird situation. Perhaps she just wanted something dramatic to say. She’s a teenager, after all.”
Even Mom is speechless at this. I can speak, but I don’t know what to say either.
“What about the knife?” Mom suddenly asks. “Was it the one that killed Ryan?”
“The knife will be tested,” Officer Hunt tells her.
“And Sarah?” asks Mom.
“Sarah remains on the missing persons list. Hopefully, in time she will make contact. We’ll keep you informed.”
Mom gets off the phone and looks at me. “Are you all right, Jemma?”
I am seething. I want this tube out of my nose, but I don’t feel like sniffing, not even to say that. How can he have an alibi? It must be a lie. Why can’t the police see through him? They’d rather believe him than me—just because I’m in a wheelchair and he’s standing on his own two feet. I know I’m right. The way Officer Hunt spoke about me was utterly humiliating.
“Jemma?” Mom asks again.
I don’t answer. I’m not sniffing again, not ever.
I have nothing more to say.